


Loyalty

by FirozTaverbi



Series: Extended Universe [3]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Rape, character death ish, everybody is xehanort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 06:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5995354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirozTaverbi/pseuds/FirozTaverbi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Vexen spent his life studying the secrets of the heart, why did he never realise that Xemnas was lying? Also Marluxia is really pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loyalty

They made a good team, Vexen thought. The neophyte seemed satisfied in their division of labour: his ready blade returning the Heartless which pestered them to the shadows, Vexen's keen eyes and quick pen gathering information. Unlike the others, he understood that missions were no time for idle chatter, allowing Vexen to focus his full attentions to the reconnaissance at hand. He hardly had to worry about his companion doing anything stupid or conspicuous, and there was no question that they would perform _all_ that was required of them, rather than simply the bare minimum. They always returned to the Castle That Never Was in good time, often leaving Vexen with full afternoons free to pursue his research in the laboratory.

It helped, of course, that the so-called Graceful Assassin was such a pleasure to observe in battle, from the almost dance-like choreography of his footwork to the elegant and devastating arc of his scythe. _It is the control with which he executes his fighting techniques which I find most entrancing_ , Vexen would write in his journal late at night, recalling Marluxia's lithe figure. _He makes_ _wielding_ _that heavy blade appear all but effortless._ It reminded him of a time long ago when he would waste afternoons watching his friends spar, each honing their preferential combat styles. _He must be older than his youthful looks suggest. One does obtain such mastery as he possesses in a mere handful of years._

Vexen had not been so impressed by a neophyte since Saïx had matured from a bitter teenager to the efficient secretary he was today. That their Superior trusted him with so much of the Organisation's daily affairs was confirmation of Vexen's instincts; likewise, when rumours began to spread that Marluxia was the favourite to administrate their activities in Castle Oblivion, Vexen smugly asserted that he could have predicted that very outcome. It was he, after all, who had been most complimentary of Marluxia's abilities in his reports - in fact, Vexen recalled at least one instance where he had complimented without sarcasm Marluxia to his face. If his memory served correctly, Marluxia had smiled that reserved smile of his, his eyes quite warm with appraisal. _Better still he has not taken the compliment as some invitation to friendship_ , Vexen wrote in his journal some time later, _For he continues to accompany me with the same quiet efficiency as always_.

Nobodies do not dream, but sometimes while waiting for sleep Vexen would imagine Marluxia without the Organisation's cloak to shroud him, how taut and tense his muscles would be, primed by years of training and experience. He would wonder if Marluxia had any scars from battle and if so how they would lie across his skin, whether they would detract from his beauty or compliment it. Although he prided himself on his focus sometimes he couldn't help but be distracted by Marluxia's grace and charm: he just hoped that the Graceful Assassin would think nothing of it when he caught him staring.

They saw each other less as Vexen's energies were increasingly diverted to the Replica Program; perhaps it was then that he first felt the need to make the most of their brief excursions from the Castle. He kept the conversations brief, formal. Marluxia began to visit him in the laboratories occasionally, bringing reports or orders and staying a few minutes to humour Vexen's small talk. The plans for Castle Oblivion were delayed by the appearance of a girl, barely more than a child, with eyes like the Keyblade Master's heir.

"She has unique abilities, ones Xemnas intends to exploit," Marluxia said in response to a query from Vexen. They were following the movements of the boy and his animal companions. Vexen tutted, irritated that he had not been party to this information. "He will reveal his plans to us once everything is finalised."

"Yet he told you of his intention to use the girl."

Marluxia shrugged. He said, quite flippantly, "He trusts me."

In his report that evening Vexen wrote that Eleven was not as focused during his mission as usual; the next time Marluxia came down with a summons from the Superior Vexen saw him out with the barest of formalities.

Of course he wasn't jealous! Such a suggestion was preposterous. He was simply offended that Marluxia would make light of the Superior's favour, as if Xemnas was no more important a tool of the Organisation than they were. _His lack of respect is troubling_ , he wrote in his journal, _Should such an incident occur again I will have no choice but to report him. For the Organisation to succeed in its aims we must maintain absolute loyalty to the Superior_.

The boy was searching for his friend. The boy's shadow, dumb and worthless but for the Keyblade he wielded, became the thirteenth member of the Organisation. Vexen was put to work on a replica, a shadow of a shadow, while plans were set in motion to obtain the power of the Keyblade Bearer himself. On the rare occasions that he left the World That Never Was, Marluxia was his usual quiet, professional self, as if nothing had ever happened between them.

The day he completed the replica - the day that it opened its blue eyes - Vexen hurried to the Superior without thinking, too wrapped up in calculations and assessments and success to imagine that he could interrupt anything of a sensitive nature. At first he assumed that Marluxia was kneeling before their Superior in some gesture of loyalty, but the moment his mind resolved the truth he ran from the scene praying to whatever Gods had forsaken them that he had not been seen. Marluxia's coat hanging open. Blood on the floor. The Superior's hand wrapped in his hair. Whispering cruel words. Marluxia coughing, choking.

At the next meeting Vexen reported blandly that his program had been a success and the new replica would soon be operational. Once, in a moment of weakness, he glanced at Marluxia: but his pretty face revealed no emotion.

 _Was what I observed punishment for some insolence?_ Vexen asked his journal, the quiver in his hand scattering the words. _Or is this the "trust" Marluxia made reference to? Is he prostrating himself to the Superior in return for favour? In return for secrets?_

Vexen named the replica Xion. He nursed her through the confusion of existence, taught her to walk, taught her to speak. He imagined himself almost missing her when he would leave for Castle Oblivion. She roused in him something like the ghost of paternal affection, and it hurt.

When he saw the Graceful Assassin, Vexen wondered what marks Xemnas had left on his body. If the treatment was ongoing, Marluxia made no indication of it. He was calm, quiet. Guarded. Vexen could not pinpoint the exact moment when he began to distrust that solemn smile, those shielded eyes. They still worked efficiently together on missions, but now Marluxia's perfect movements were a source of disturbance for Vexen, reminding him how little he knew about the younger Nobody.

Then one evening, when they were catching their breath after a long and difficult mission, Marluxia asked suddenly, "So tell me, Vexen. What is a heart?" He was watching the sun slink closer to the horizon, his hands pressed against the small of his back, his spine curving as gracefully as his title would suggest.

"That's simple: the heart is the vessel of emotions. In other words, it is what we lack."

"After all your research, you cannot possibly still think that."

Vexen's focus snapped quite suddenly from his inventory. Marluxia was looking at him with an expression which seemed almost amused. "Of course I- What is that supposed to mean?" He was irritated at being caught out so easily, at being so flustered when he spluttered, "Why would you suggest such a thing?"

"You must know that no soul can exist without emotions - without a heart - indefinitely," Marluxia said, quite calmly, as if he was simply reporting the weather. "Surely your research has found that over time Nobodies regain their former capacity to feel emotions." His eyes were piercing. Waiting.

"The soul cannot exist- by rights, we should not exist at all," Vexen snapped, struggling to get his thoughts into order. There was too much in Marluxia's statement to refute at once - his confidence was simply disarming - but while he watched passively Vexen was feeling a flood of shock, humiliation and anger. "Rejected from the realms of light and darkness, we exist only in the in-between-"

"I wasn't asking for a recitation of Xemnas' propaganda. I want the truth - the results of your research."

It was as if Vexen had been split into two people: one who could believe that Marluxia's propositions were nothing but the foolish chatter of one taken in by his own illusions, and one who, no matter the consequences, was determined to seek the truth.

"No," he said, shaking his head as if it would resolve his mind into one being again, "No, the heart is a precious, rare thing- it cannot simply _grow back_. Such a suggestion would be preposterous- _blasphemous_ -"

"But you cannot pretend that you do not feel emotions, Vexen. That you do not take pride in your work. That the ineptitude of the younger members doesn't frustrate you. That you have never imagined yourself in the company of a beautiful woman- or man-"

"Enough! I've had enough of this foolishness." Vexen opened a portal to the Castle. He felt weak, light-headed. Afraid. He needed the cold, clinical light of his laboratory, its grey walls and lifeless geometric shapes. He needed to feel nothing. "You're ignoring the evidence in favour of what you want to believe. Only Kingdom Hearts can restore us to our whole selves." He could not bear to look at Marluxia, even to check that he was following him into the corridors of darkness.

"You're a scientist, Vexen. It is not your nature to blindly follow those who would suppress the truth."

"You are out of your mind!"

Feeling Marluxia's hand on his arm, Vexen jolted away in surprise and fear. Even as he spoke he felt - separated from himself, somehow - as if it were not he who was speaking from his own mouth at all -

"Don't let him control you," said Marluxia, almost pleadingly. Vexen was shaking.

"You are simply bitter that you have become our Superior's pretty whore," he snapped as he threw open an exit portal, hurling himself through it and closing the portal before Marluxia could follow. His breathing was heavy. He leant against the nearest wall, fighting for control. Balance. Equilibrium. The image of Xemnas forcing himself onto Marluxia ached in the back of his mind. They were too close to obtaining their goals for this- for Marluxia to turn around and question everything to which Vexen had dedicated the last decade of his half-existence - to say such traitorous things -

Vexen knew he should have reported Marluxia to the Superior, but he was afraid. He knew that he should have returned to his early research, searching not for what he already assumed but the truth: but he was afraid. He knew he should have dismissed Marluxia's words as the nonsense they were. But he was afraid.

Relocating to Castle Oblivion was an exercise which distracted him. He left most of his journals back at the Castle That Never Was: he only needed the notes and equipment relating to the Replica Program. He spent days setting up his laboratory, stopping only to eat whatever Zexion left on the desk for him. They knew better than to disturb him; not so the man carrying the scent of flowers into his sanctuary.

"Marluxia."

"I just came to check on your progress." Marluxia's voice was flat, businesslike. As if nothing had happened between them.

"As you can see, everything is going according to plan," Vexen clipped back.

"And you have been briefed on the plan of action once the Keyblade Bearer enters the Castle."

"On the official plan of action, or _your_ plan?"

"They're one and the same," Marluxia said, a coldness entering his tone. Vexen refused to face him, focusing instead on organising a pile of folders. He had to stay rational. Anything to prevent the terrifying dissonance of breaking into two people again.

"And I'm supposed to believe that, after the things you said?"

"We may have our differences, but I know when to set them aside to achieve a common goal," said Marluxia. Vexen counted the folders, one by one, onto the shelf. "I expect you to do the same." The unspoken threat: _don't interfere_.

The doubt, wrestling for control in Vexen's mind. The Superior's hypocrisy. The truth. Fighting the voice in the back of his mind which told him to trust Xemnas, to ignore his research's anomalies, even his own emotions, was too difficult. He succumbed to Xehanort's control.

And then he succumbed to the flames.


End file.
